The Boy Is Mine
by CumberChelz
Summary: My first fanfic, so be kind! It's going to be a Sherlolly romance but with a bit of trouble caused by THE WOMAN.  So I call it a Sherlollydler  but no threesomes!  Thanks to Nocturnias for being my friend and inspiration! xxx
1. Chapter 1

**The Boy is Mine**

**Chapter 1**

**An Unwanted Visitor**

It had been three months since John had married and moved out of Baker Street. Sherlock was alone and for once in his life not enjoying the experience. He had grown accustomed to John's presence, he was his best friend and although he did not want to give into sentimental feelings – he forced himself to admit that he missed him. They had been a team and their separation had left him feeling incomplete. Although John still helped on certain cases, he now had his own medical practice and was not the constant companion he once was.

Sherlock did not want anyone to know that he was constantly fighting the urge to surrender to any emotions but certain people were forcing him to work hard to maintain the subterfuge. At least it gave him something to do and stopped him from getting bored. Since John's departure the flat had become a regular visitor attraction with Mrs Hudson regularly checking that he was eating, John who obviously felt guilty at deserting his former flatmate, Mycroft who was forever concerned about his younger brother's welfare and occasionally Lestrade, mainly when they were working on a case. Even Molly had stopped by a few times for tea. Since she had helped Sherlock fake his own death, their relationship had changed somewhat. She was a little more relaxed around him, was able to hold a proper conversation without stuttering, but still had a tendency to make inappropriate jokes. Sherlock was glad that in that respect she had stayed the same because it was one of the things that endeared him to her and he didn't want her to change too much.

Undoubtedly they were all concerned he might do something rash like turning back to substance abuse or shooting the wall because he was bored and no longer had John to stop him. But they were unaware that their seemingly unwanted attention was actually keeping Sherlock from turning to any vices. His mind was being kept busy coming up with different ways to insult each visitor (with varying severity depending on the recipient) and to appear as his usual obnoxious self. Mycroft understandably got the most venomous abuse because that was normal (for Sherlock) and that is how he wanted to appear.

"Sherlock! How are you?" Mycroft asked with forced cheeriness.

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, hands resting on his chest, eyes closed. He did not respond to his brother's greeting.

"Sherlock, I know you are awake. There is no use in pretending."

Sherlock's eyes opened and moved to view the figure standing at the door.

"I was hoping that if I ignored you for long enough you'd go away…"

"Well that is not going to happen Sherlock. You can't fool me."

"I did once."

"Yes… you did. But it won't happen again."

"We'll see… Well? What do you want?"

"I was just passing and thought I'd check in on you…"

"Don't you have minions to do that for you? A network of spies? I thought you'd have increased surveillance on me since John left. Everyone is so concerned!"

"We are worried about you dear brother. John was… good for you. And now he's gone…"

"Oh you think I'm going to go off the rails because I don't have somebody to baby-sit me? Actually I was surprised you hadn't offered Mrs Hudson the job, she's the ideal choice."

"Sherlock…"

"Ah… you did... but she turned you down."

"She said you didn't need me… interfering…"

"Good old Mrs Hudson. And yes, she does make sure the fridge is stocked without any incentive to do so from you…"

"Good… that's good to know…"

Sherlock sat up properly on the couch, setting his bare feet down on the carpet. He sighed and looked disdainfully at his brother.

"Well are you going to stand there all day or aren't you going to sit down? I am assuming that this isn't a flying visit that you wish to bother me with some more idle conversation."

Mycroft slowly moved over to one of the armchairs beside the fireplace and sat down, resting his umbrella against the side of the chair.

"Tea would be nice…"

"Yes, it would… You know where the kitchen is. There may be cakes in the cupboard, I'm sure Mrs Hudson bought those with you in mind as she knows that I won't eat them. How is the diet by the way?" He smirked, knowing that it always irritated Mycroft each time he mentioned his infamous diet.

"It's FINE!"

"Must be difficult having to put up with all those vegetables and no sugar muesli…"

"The details of my diet are of no concern of yours Sherlock!"

"But Mycroft, _dear brother_. I am merely concerned about _you_, just as you are concerned about _me_…" His words were laced with sarcasm, knowing that he had won the argument. "And I'm concerned that you have put weight on since I last saw you…"

"I have NOT. My dietician said…" He stopped himself mid-sentence, realising that he had been fooled yet again into divulging more information than he wished to.

"Oh you have a _dietician._ I shouldn't be surprised that you've sought professional help…"

"I should have known that my visit would result in this petty bickering as always… I really don't know why I bother…"

"Because you feel responsible for ensuring my welfare?" Sherlock sneered, his nose twitching slightly. "That you would be consumed by guilt if anything were to happen to me? Will you ever stop interfering Mycroft? I am a grown man for god's sake! Why can't you just LEAVE. ME. ALONE?"

Sherlock's demeanour had changed suddenly during the speech, from arrogance to anger. He had looked at his brother during his last words, his eyes ablaze with rage. His performance had the required effect. Mycroft silently rose from the chair and headed straight for the door. But Mycroft being Mycroft, he had to have the last word.

"If that is what you want Sherlock. I shall indeed leave you alone. For now…"

And with that Mycroft left the flat. Sherlock listened to the footsteps going down the stairs, the sound of the front door opening and closing and smiled. He was satisfied that he had sufficiently vexed his brother and that the performance had been a success.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A More Welcome Visitor**

There was only one more visitor that Sherlock had to deal with after Mycroft's hasty departure and that was Molly, who was far more welcome, although he didn't want to make that too apparent. He was now seated in his favourite armchair and Molly in the one opposite. She had made a pot of tea and laid out a plate of biscuits (she had bought some Jammie Dodgers as she knew they were Sherlock's favourite). They enjoyed a period of silence as they sipped their tea, until Molly dropped her biscuit into her tea.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed, not knowing what to do. The cup and saucer were unsteady in her hands and as she panicked, she managed to spill the contents all over her lap. Sherlock meanwhile was trying to stifle a laugh as the sight of Molly covered in a mixture of tea and soggy biscuit was rather an amusing sight. But as he noticed the look of distress on her face, he realised her embarrassment and the smirk promptly disappeared from his face. He put his own tea to one side and went to assist her.

"It's alright Molly. It's just tea. Nothing is broken."

"Why can't I just have one visit where something doesn't go wrong? I always make a fool of myself, say the wrong thing…" She was on the verge of tears, standing there holding an empty cup and saucer, her new pink skirt stained with tea.

"Molly, you are not a fool. These things happen," Sherlock said reassuringly. He took the cup and saucer from her and set them down on the table. He then assessed the damage. "It will come out in the wash Molly, it's not ruined…"

"But I can't walk down the street looking like THIS!" she wailed, the tears were welling in her eyes now, her hands gestured towards her skirt.

Sherlock took a moment to think through the situation and how to resolve it. It only took a matter of seconds.

"Right Molly Hooper. Here is what we are going to do. You are going to go into my bedroom, remove your skirt and then we will get it washed and dried."

"But Sherlock… You don't have a washing machine… You send all your clothes to the dry cleaners…"

"Yes I do. But Mrs Hudson has a washing machine AND dryer. I'm sure she will be happy to assist. Now go and take that thing off."

"But Sherlock…"

"What now?" he retorted, growing slightly exasperated at Molly's objections.

"What will I do whilst it's being washed? I can't sit around her in my… underwear." Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she avoided looking Sherlock in the eye.

"You can wear one of my robes. There are some clean ones in the wardrobe."

"You would let me wear one of your robes?" she gasped, surprised that he would allow her to wear anything of his.

"Of course. It's the most practical solution. I don't have any spare skirts… Well at least I don't think I do…" he said, raising a mischievous eyebrow. That relieved Molly's nerves somewhat and she laughed. "No go and get changed. I shall pop downstairs and see Mrs Hudson."

After Sherlock had a brief conversation with Mrs Hudson, who was of course more than happy to help with Molly's predicament, he re-entered the flat to find Molly sitting back in the armchair clad in his plaid robe. The robe was too big for her, so she had rolled up the sleeves and it covered her legs completely as the fabric pooled over her feet.

"I left it on the table," she said as Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room. He looked to see the skirt folded on the coffee table. "Did you speak to Mrs Hudson?"

"Yes. It is not a problem. She will have it washed and dried for you in no time."

"Sherlock? I looked at the washing instructions, and it says 'do not tumble dry'"

"Oh they always put that on labels these days, just to cover themselves in case anything should go wrong with the process. On a low heat, it should be fine. I'll just pop downstairs with it…"

Sherlock delivered Molly's skirt into Mrs Hudson's capable hands and she set about the task of washing it. He once again climbed the stairs and re-entered the flat. Molly had moved from her position in the armchair and was in the kitchen washing the tea set.

"Molly, you don't need to do that," he said as he entered the kitchen.

"It's fine, just let me do something that I'm capable of."

"Molly, will you STOP DOING THAT!" Sherlock snapped suddenly.

Molly turned to him, her cheeks flushed, a look of uncertainty on her face. They stood opposite each other, their eyes fixed on each other in an intense moment.

"Stop doing what?" she asked in a quiet voice. She was notably upset by his impulsive outburst.

Sherlock realised that he himself had said the wrong thing. Well it wasn't what he had said, it was the way he had said it. It was time for some damage control again.

"Molly… I'm sorry for shouting at you. Forgive me. It's just… You are always putting yourself down and… I… I don't like it…"

He considered his next words carefully not sure if he should be completely honest with Molly but he knew that he could trust her. Even though he had treated her so badly in the past, she was always there and would always be willing to do whatever he asked. She had never faltered in her devotion to him and expected nothing in return. After some deliberation, he decided to tell her the truth.

"Molly… Yes you are a little clumsy, and yes you do sometimes make inappropriate jokes and say the wrong thing, wherein you have to either apologise or explain yourself, making the situation worse than it initially was… And then there is your obsession with cats and fluffy animals and a love of all things pink, which is a little bit twee… But that is all YOU Molly Hooper and… I wouldn't want you to change…"

Molly blushed even more than she already was. She was lost for words as Sherlock had never said anything like that to her before. It was also the way he had spoken, softly, in contrast to the annoyance he had expressed just moments earlier. He had looked her straight in the eye as he had spoken, proving to her that he really meant what he said.

"Sherlock… I… I…"

"You're stuttering again… I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"No… You didn't… I just didn't expect… You've never said…"

"Never said what? That I do care about you Molly? That I don't like it when you demean yourself? Because you shouldn't Molly. You are more brilliant than you believe yourself to be and I wouldn't be here without you. You are just as important as John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. I told you once before that you do count…"

"Yes you did."

"Have I ever told you something that wasn't true?"

"No…"

"Good!" he exclaimed returning to a more cheerful tone of voice. "Do you think we dare risk another cup of tea?"


	3. Chapter 3

OK, this one was a bit tough to write. I had to work at it! The previous chapters just happened!  
>Anyhoo, hope you like! Thanks to everyone that has reviewed, favourited etc! Love you all and thanks for the support! xxx <p>

**Chapter 3**

**He Cares! He Really Cares!**

Molly looked horrified at the prospect of having to handle another cup of tea but they had to do something to pass the time whilst she waited for the return of her skirt. Sherlock made it this time, opting for two mugs as he knew they would be less likely to cause any further mishap. Molly had opted for the couch this time as it was closer to the coffee table which she could use. Sherlock surprised her as he also sat on the couch but seated himself at the opposite end leaving a safe gap between them.

"Sherlock? What you said before… did you really mean it?"

"Which part? You'll have to be more specific."

"The part where you said… that… you care about me…"

Molly shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look at Sherlock as her cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson.

"Well I do…" he said, with a perplexed expression, as if he didn't comprehend why she would find it so hard to believe. He did suspect that the reason was that he had never said such a thing to her before.

"But Sherlock..." Molly continued, struggling to try and find the right words she wanted to say. "You don't usually..."

"I believe what you are trying to say is that I don't usually express my feelings," he interrupted. "That I try to distance myself from experiencing emotions, which includes caring about people."

"Yes, that's right."

"It has taken me some time to realise, but since... _that day_... I have... changed..."

"You've never really talked about it before, well not to me."

"I've not talked to anyone about it. I didn't want anybody to know."

"Know what?"

"That I was unable to ignore my feelings. My brother and I have previously agreed that we believe that caring to be a weakness. That day, I realised I did care about those around me, that I did have friends. And that I was prepared to die to protect them."

"But that didn't include me Sherlock."

"Because you weren't on Moriarty's hit list?"

"Yes. He didn't think you had any affection for me. I wasn't important enough."

"Well he was wrong. If you had been in danger, I would have done the same. But it was fortunate that you weren't as you wouldn't have been able to help me."

Molly suddenly felt a pang of warmth in her chest. She started to believe that Sherlock was capable of including her as a friend. But there was still a part of her that told her not to get her hopes up, that it was too good to be true. What she had wanted for so long, to have Sherlock's interest in a more friendly way, had become something she had come to believe she would never have.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, as she had lapsed deep into thought.

"Sorry Sherlock, I was just... thinking..."

"I know. I could hear you. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that that... I've gotten so used to you being so aloof and unfeeling. If you have indeed changed, it's going to take time to adjust..."

"I understand. Change is always hard to accept, but it has to be dealt with."

"Sherlock? Remember the Christmas party, what happened, what you said and what I said back?"

Sherlock grimaced as he recalled the awkward scene when he had inadvertently upset Molly. He had been too busy deducing the gift to even suspect that he was the intended recipient. And he had personally insulted Molly by making unflattering references to her body and appearance. It had been a very rare moment as Sherlock had apologised to her and that had to mean something. He never said sorry to anybody, not even John. He couldn't believe he had overlooked the significance of that moment, but other things had been on his mind since then, first The Woman and then Moriarty.

"Yes, I remember it," he replied looking at her with sad eyes. "What about it?"

"You... always saying horrible things to me..." She had a pained expression on her face as she spoke.

"Molly... I never meant to..."

"I know, it's just the way you..." she paused as she chose her words carefully, "it was just your way."

"Yes... I know…"

"And then in the lab, you said why would you need anything from me... That is why I thought I didn't count..."

"But it turned out that I _did_ need you, and therefore you _did_ count. I just had to figure it out."

"So you really did mean it, that you needed me and you really do care? I was afraid it was just because I was convenient."

"No Molly," he said softly as he turned to face her on the couch, an intense gleam in his eyes. He swallowed before continuing. "When I came to you that night it wasn't because you were convenient. It's because I realised that I had been so stupid that I didn't _see _how important you were. You would never believe that I was a fake. Even after all the things I had said, all the times I had upset you, you never really hated me. Yes, you may have been angry with me, but you understood that it was just me being me. Most people would have detested me, the way I treated you but you're not most people. You were willing to help me when I had nobody else I could turn to. I trust you Molly Hooper and as a friend I would do anything for you."

Molly was on the verge of tears, but she fought them back as she didn't want to cry in front of Sherlock. She could not believe that he could actually be so tender. There had been a glimpse of it on the night before his 'death' when he had found her at the lab, but at that time he was under a great deal of pressure, he was sad back then. Now he was calm and speaking to her in a way that she had always dreamt of. She loved it when he talked, his deep voice cut right through her, especially when he was directing perfectly pronounced words to her personally.

The moment was broken by a knocking at the door and Mrs Hudson's voice.

"Cooee! Sherlock? I've got Molly's skirt!"

Sherlock got up and opened the door to Mrs Hudson holding Molly's freshly washed skirt.

"I gave it a bit of an iron too. Good as new!"

She walked around Sherlock into the flat and made her way towards Molly.

"You OK Molly dear?" she said with a smile.

"Yes Mrs Hudson, I'm fine."

"You just look a bit... out-of-sorts, that's all."

"I'm fine, really."

"She'll feel much better when she can get dressed again Mrs Hudson." Sherlock stated curtly. He moved towards her and made a gesture towards the skirt she was holding. She realised that he wanted her to hand over the skirt and did so before promptly darting back down the stairs to her own flat.

Sherlock stood beside the coffee table and held up the skirt to inspect it.

"Hmmm... no stain. It looks all right."

"Good. Do you think I could put it back on now?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied as Molly rose from the couch. He handed her the skirt, and as the exchange took place their fingers touched. Molly immediately withdrew her hands along with the skirt.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," she said, blushing with embarrassment.

"It's fine Molly. Now go and use the bedroom again. You can leave my robe on the bed."

Molly moved towards the bedroom, but as she did so, she tripped on the edge of the rug and almost ended up on the floor. But Sherlock stepped in to catch her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry! I don't know what it is today, I'm so clumsy!"

"Yet again Molly, it's fine. John used to do that all the time, only he would swear at the rug and say he was going to buy a new one, but he never did..."

Sherlock's reference to John seemed to calm the situation, although they lingered for a moment in a half-embrace. Molly looked up at Sherlock as he peered down at her. The belt of the robe had come loose and Sherlock spied a glimpse of something black and lacy showing below Molly's pink blouse. He was surprised as he thought she would have worn pink knickers...

"Sherlock? Do you think you could let me go now?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, as he realised he had been standing there holding her and checking out her underwear for more than a few seconds. "Of course!" he added as he withdrew from the embrace and went back to his favourite chair. Molly hurried into the bedroom to get changed while Sherlock began to analyse all that had just happened, especially the underwear incident. He was especially worried and surprised about that.

Molly went into the bedroom and took off the robe. As she put on her skirt, she too was thinking through what had just happened. "Why did she have to be so clumsy?" she asked herself. Things like that only happened when she was around Sherlock. It was like fate was conspiring to embarrass her every time she was with him. She had managed to stop stuttering around him and now it had been replaced with spills and falls! But, she smiled to herself as she remembered all the lovely things he had said. He cared about her, he really cared! And he had put his arms around her, she had liked that a lot. She loved him even more than she did before and she felt so happy.


	4. Chapter 4

_OK this turned into a shorter chapter than I expected, but it just happened! It started off quite serious but then… well you'll see!_  
><em>And I've got a job for those of you that review! (see instructions at the end!) Special thanks to Nocturnias and PurpleYin for their support! Love you! xxx<em>

xxxxx

**Chapter 4**

Sherlock's OTHER Friend

Later that evening Sherlock was alone once more. Molly had left shortly after getting dressed. There had been an awkward moment as she was saying goodbye. Sherlock deduced that she was going to hug him, but then decided against it. He thought it was for the best as it might have lead to him thinking about her underwear again. He was worried about _that_ as it was most certainly out of character.

He was lying on the couch with his hands resting on his chest. He had tried reading, played his violin until he got bored, then a little TV but there was nothing good on, so he turned it off and threw the remote control at the screen. He decided to simply lie down and visit his mind palace. He needed to consider what he had said to Molly and more importantly why. Of course things between them had changed, but what did this development actually mean and what was he going to do about it?

"What makes Molly different to any woman I've known?" he asked himself and was initially stuck for an answer. So he closed his eyes and climbed the spiral staircase up to the laboratory in his mind palace.

There amongst all the scientific equipment, chemicals and body parts were all his memories of Molly. He went through a selection of them. He remembered the time in the canteen where he had manipulated her by commenting on her hair – he hadn't actually been lying, he did prefer her hair when it was to the side. The occasion she asked him if he wanted coffee – OK he had been oblivious to the fact that she was trying to ask him out, but she didn't get upset with him and still made him coffee. She was very good at her job and did not flinch at the sight of a gruesome dead body – he respected her for that. There was nothing he hated more than a woman who would faint at the sight of a little blood. Then he thought about her noticing that he looked sad when he thought John couldn't see. She proved herself to be very perceptive, proving he had previously underestimated her observational skills. It pained him to hear that she thought she didn't count when that was so far from the truth. She did count, she counted more than she could possibly imagine. He could always trust her as he had told her the night he went to her. She would always believe in him, would always care. No matter how many times he was rude to her and upset her, she would always defend him. She would do anything for him without a second thought.

"If you need anything… anything at all…" he heard her say as if it were a recording in his head. The sound of her soft voice caused an unexpected physical reaction. His eyes shot open and he looked down towards his groin with some hesitation.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" he said to the appendage stirring in his pyjama bottoms.

Of course it didn't answer him, so Sherlock continued the one-sided conversation.

"First I'm having problems dealing with my… feelings… And now my body is betraying me again. I do not NEED this! Do you hear me?"

He raised an eyebrow at the bulge which had no intention of abating.

"You're not SUPPOSED to be DOING that!" he shouted, waving a finger at his crotch. "Why are you doing that? Is it because I was thinking about Molly? No… it's not just that… It's something else…"

He sniffed the air and frowned. There was something amiss.

"What is that? That smell?" He sniffed again and realised that he was wearing the plaid robe… the one that Molly had worn and the aroma was coming from it. It was the whiff of a sweet floral perfume.

"It's her… I can smell her… Is that what you like?"

He took the lump's silence as a yes.

"If you think I am going to succumb to what you want me to do, then you are greatly mistaken! Now stop it! STOP IT NOW!"

He waited for a moment to see if his body would obey. It didn't. He gave it one of his angry glares but it stayed exactly the way it was.

"Oh for god's sake! I told you I'm not going to give in! Go away!"

Suddenly there was a light knock at the door.

"Sherlock?" came Mrs Hudson's voice. "Are you OK?"

"Yes Mrs Hudson."

"But I thought I heard you shouting at someone…"

"I was just talking to myself Mrs Hudson. I'm fine…"

"Oh alright then. I was just checking! You know I don't like it when there's fighting in the flat… Thought there might be trouble the way you were shouting…"

He heard her go back downstairs, leaving her to his problem. He was very glad that she hadn't decided to enter the flat, or else he would have had to grab a cushion to conceal his embarrassing friend.

"Yes Mrs Hudson," he continued to himself, "There is trouble… it's in my underwear…"

xxxxx

_OK, what happens next? YOU DECIDE! LOL_

_Should Sherlock give into his not-so-little friend? Or should he stay strong and keep control of his emotions? Review and let me know and I'll write whatever gets the most suggestions! xxx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Sorry it's taken longer than expected for this chapter. It was another I had to work on and I hope it's OK! I took into consideration the votes that were given, thank you to all who gave their input! A special HUG to Nocturnias (as always) and also PurpleYin, StellaAzurePaladin, Emcee Frodis & LilBookworm89. And thank you to everyone else that has reviewed! You all give me the inspiration to write more! THANK YOU! xxx_

xxxxx

**Chapter 5**

**Things are not always as they appear…**

"If you think you can wear me down, then you are sadly mistaken!" Sherlock said to the bulge that was still making its presence known.

"You know I can win this battle. I am in charge of YOU, not the other way around! I will not let you corrupt me!"

He looked down again at the protuberance in his pyjamas and frowned. He had to admit his body was being very persistent. He had experienced manifestations like this before, but had always managed to control the urge to relent and successfully return to a relaxed state.

"How did I triumph last time?" he asked himself, trying to remember but he couldn't. He had a vague recollection that it had definitely happened numerous times before and he had managed to fend it off, but the details of how he managed to do it were nowhere to be found in his mind palace. He even checked the wine cellar but all he found was a headless skeleton…

"Must have deleted them… I need to be more careful about what I delete in future… Oh! Maybe if I think of something REALLY offensive then that will work. Now, what could possibly disgust me enough to bring me out of this state of arousal? Ah! I have it! ANDERSON!"

He closed his eyes and remembered why he hated Anderson so much. His face, yes, that was what irritated him the most. His appearance - he looked like an evil goblin with his pointy nose… and he was such an IDIOT! He had never met anybody so dim-witted in his life. At a crime scene he could never see the most obvious facts staring him in the face and his deductions were always wrong. The evidence could have a big flashing sign with an arrow pointing to it and he would still fail to notice it. And then there was his sordid extra-marital relationship with Donovan. They were the dastardly duo, always plotting against him and doing distasteful things with each other behind closed doors. He knew what they had done, reporting him to the Chief Superintendent, helping Moriarty to ruin him. Ever since he had come back from the dead they had kept their distance and he was glad of that. But their hatred of him still managed to reach him and was deflected right back at them.

Sherlock glanced down at his 'friend' who was showing signs of waning. The method of attack was working! He was victorious!

"Well I suppose that's one thing Anderson is good for… The thought of him made you see sense! I think I'll take a cold shower to make sure you properly behave!"

xxxxx

_Oh faithful readers… you didn't REALLY think that was going to happen did you? This is supposed to be a story about Sherlock coming to terms with and accepting that he has emotions… so to allow the scenario that has just happened would be wrong! ;) And I actually had greater feedback asking for him to give in… so I'm bowing to popular opinion and not cheating! :)_

_Now it's time for the REAL chapter!_

xxxxx

**Chapter 5**

**The Science of Compulsion**

"If you think you can wear me down, then you are sadly mistaken!" Sherlock said to the bulge that was still making its presence known.

"Why now? I don't understand. I've managed to control you for so long…"

He looked down again at the protuberance in his pyjamas and frowned. He had to admit his body was being very persistent. He had experienced manifestations like this before, but had always managed to control the urge to relent and successfully return to a relaxed state. But this time it was different, he was conflicted, not knowing whether he wanted to fight the urge or give into it.

"Oh stupid, STUPID! That's it isn't it? You're rebelling aren't you?" he said, arching an eyebrow. "I've neglected you and now you're staging a mutiny?"

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the couch, placing his palms flat down on either side and tried to control his breathing.

"I can't do this… Do you hear me? You're an irritation! All because of… M-Molly and her… undergarments… Her black lacy knickers… Oh no… that's NOT helping!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and snaked a hand down towards the offending protuberance, it hovered hesitantly, not sure whether to continue. Dare he touch it? What would happen once he did? It had been a long time since he had ever touched himself like _that _and he had deleted most of the data as he had come to the conclusion that the more he remembered the experience, the more likely he would be to give in. But of course that hadn't worked or else he wouldn't be in the situation he was in. His hand hovered for what seemed to be an eternity, uncertain as to whether the brain controlling it wanted to continue.

"Oh Molly… what have you done?" he sighed as he set his hand down flat on his stomach and his fingers crept closer to the edge of his pyjamas. Upon reaching the waistband his fingers fluttered for a moment before slowly sliding underneath. Moving leisurely over curly, wiry hairs and warm skin they reached their destination. He gasped as the full extent of his arousal became apparent. His cock was hot and hard and he could feel the blood surging into it. As he gently stroked down his throbbing muscle it seemed to twitch as if surprised that it was getting physical attention.

"You didn't think I was going to do it, did you?" he said as he wrapped his long slender fingers around the shaft of his sturdy erection. "Well, that makes two of us…"

He lay still for a while simply holding himself, his eyes closed and his breathing was heavy but controlled. He started to imagine what had started it all – Molly. Why had it taken him so long to really see her as she was. With Irene it had been different, he had been intrigued right away and not by her nudity. He had not been able to read her at all, perhaps due to the lack of clothing to give him adequate clues. With Molly it had been a gradual realisation that she was important to him, and more lately that she was a grown woman with feelings for him. Why shouldn't he reciprocate? He had denied himself physical pleasure for so long, and now his body was telling him that he could no longer abstain. Molly was the key to its release from his self-imposed suppression.

"Oh Molly!" he gasped, as he remembered her in his bathrobe sitting on the couch. He recalled one particular moment when she had crossed her legs and sighed. He had stolen a glimpse of bare thigh, but she had immediately covered it up, unaware that he had noticed. His friend, whom he still had grasped firmly in his hand, rather liked the memory…

"Oh you are intolerable!" he said to his cock and gave it a squeeze, which resulted in a surprised moan. "Oh… that's… rather good…" The scales had finally tipped as he gave into the pleasurable feelings he was experiencing. He steadied his hand and began fisting it up and down his substantial length, slow at first but gradually getting faster and faster. He had begun to sweat and his hair was a mass of messy wild locks, the curls of his fringe stuck to his damp forehead. He shook his head to try and shift them away, but they refused.

"I can understand why people do this… sort of thing," he said in a breathy voice. "It's rather… stimulating…"

As the sensations in his groin grew more intense he shoved his pyjamas down with his free hand, exposing himself to the air of the room. He glanced down at what he was doing. His penis was flushed with blood and still very rigid. He flung his head back down onto the cushion and groaned. He needed something more to get off, so he lifted his t-shirt and started to caress his chest, lightly fingering his nipples.

"Come ON! I'm giving you what you WANT! Oh… I'm not? You want me to think about Molly some more don't you? Alright then…"

He closed his eyes and pictured Molly sitting on the couch beside him. She was wearing his plaid robe and he imagined little else.

"Sherlock…" she said in a soft voice and crawled over to straddle his hips. On doing so the robe fell open and she shrugged it off her shoulders. She was wearing the black lacy knickers and a matching bra which was almost see-through.

"They're bigger than I thought…" Sherlock commented, referring to the size of her breasts.

"Would you like me to take my bra off?" Molly asked with a sweet smile.

"Um… yes… YES! YEEEEES!"

Sherlock snapped out of his dreamlike state as his friend decided it had achieved the required amount of stimulation and ejaculated over his stomach.

"Oooooh," he moaned over and over as his body convulsed on the couch and he rode out the remainder of his climax. It took a while for him to settle down and he simply lay still until his cock had returned to a flaccid state in his hand.

"Well that was… enlightening…" he said looking down one last time. "I hope you don't make a habit of this…"

But "who was he kidding?" he had thought to himself. Something inside him had awoken and he knew that he was going to have more experiences with his fleshy friend… He had found a new addiction for the time being…

xxxx

_Next time... Will Irene finally make an appearance? Will Molly flash her knickers again? Will Sherlock turn into an unstoppable wanking machine? What WILL Mrs Hudson think of all the moaning and groaning coming from 221B? Will we see the riding crop in use?_

_Stay tuned! But give me a week or so coz the creative juices have to recharge! LOL. Thank you for reading and please review!  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

_OK, I had to do some thinking about this next chapter, as it was always going to be a bit tricky and for once I had to formulate a plan! This part is really the build up to the next chapter, which when you've read it, you'll understand! And there is a clue in a name, see if you can spot it! ;)_

_Thanks as always to my lovely reviewers and their continued support! Hugs and kisses to you!_

xxx

After what Sherlock had started to refer to as 'The Event' (but only to himself of course – he could never tell anyone) he began to indulge his 'friend' on a regular basis, usually in the mornings when he woke up, or rather his 'friend' woke him up. He needed something to take his mind off his increasing physical needs, so he took a case…

A man by the name of Peter Hampson had visited 221B to consult Sherlock on the matter of his neighbour. Initially Sherlock was impassive; it appeared to be the usual neighbourly domestic dispute, noise disruption and visitors calling at unreasonable hours. He was going to tell Peter to make a diary of incidents, get audio evidence and take them to the police. His noisy neighbour obviously needed an ASBO. But then Peter had said something that stimulated Sherlock's interest.

"I went to the police, but they didn't believe me… Even after they had questioned my neighbour and looked around the house," were the words that grabbed Sherlock's attention.

"Didn't believe what?" Sherlock said, as he leaned forward in his chair with a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

"That I heard somebody being murdered Mr Holmes!"

"Murdered?"

"Yes! There were screams in the middle of the night, horrible cries of pain! A man begging for his life, but no matter how much he pleaded, his torturer didn't relent. I could hear him constantly thrashing the poor man, until all was silent."

"You believe that those sounds were that of a man being beaten to death?"

"Yes Mr Holmes, I do."

"So… You went to the police with your story, although you had no proof, you felt morally obligated to report the incident. They went to your neighbour, asked questions, got nowhere. Your neighbour obviously had an airtight alibi on the night in question and no knowledge of the supposed incident that you had reported. The police looked around the house and found no evidence of a murder or anything related to signs of a struggle."

"You're absolutely right."

"But just because they didn't find anything, it doesn't mean that there wasn't anything there. The police aren't always thorough in their investigations and I doubt that they made a full exploration of the house, especially as it's a house with four floors. And they probably couldn't be bothered as your neighbour had convinced them that nothing had happened…"

"They didn't seem concerned at all Mr Holmes. Told me that it was probably the television I heard, a violent film or something. But it was no movie, it was real, you have to believe me!"

"Oh I do. Doesn't take a genius to be able to tell the difference between recorded sounds and the real life sounds of a brutal beating. The differences in sound wave resonance are quite distinct if you pay attention and listen."

"Will you take the case?"

"I believe I will Mr Hampson."

xxx

And with that Sherlock found himself inspecting the four storey townhouse in an affluent area of London. He had acquired access to a flat opposite so he could watch the movements of the occupant. Peter had been vague in the description of his neighbour, probably as they had never actually met. Sherlock's investigation discovered that that he was a short, slight man in his late early 30's. Shaggy dark hair, a thick moustache, always smartly dressed in a suit, hat and large overcoat (that was too big for him) and according to the postman, his name was Lee Derrian

After a few days and no notable events other than Mr Derrian leaving and entering via the front door, Sherlock moved his surveillance to the back of the property. Clearly if visitors were no longer entering from the street, then the back door was the only other alternative. He found a good position in the branches of a large oak tree in Peter's garden where he could clearly observe the rear entrance and that is where he struck gold.

Many visitors came and went each staying for approximately 30 minutes to an hour. All faces were concealed with scarves and hats which aroused Sherlock's interest immediately. These callers did not want anyone to know their identity, their behaviour was cautious as they kept to the shadows to reach the house. Three knocks and the door opened and they slipped inside. There was no sight of who opened the door as the inner entrance was unlit. Sherlock was most certainly intrigued at this point. He had to find out more. Who were these visitors and more importantly what were they doing there?

Sherlock had continued the surveillance for a few days more, just to check that Derrian did not deviate from his routine. He didn't, so Sherlock decided the time was right for a little breaking and entering. He waited for Derrian to leave the house as usual and stealthily approached the back door. The lock was easy to manipulate with his lock picking equipment and he cautiously gained entrance into the building.

He switched on his torch and found himself in a small hallway with only one internal door. There was no wallpaper, decoration or carpet to the small passage, indicating that it was merely a thoroughfare to another part of the building and not important.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and moved towards the plain wooden internal door. Whatever was behind it held all the answers to this case and there was nothing that would stop him from discovering the secrets it concealed. His hand hovered over the handle, fingers flexing in his leather gloves before grasping and pushing it down. It opened without resistance which surprised him, he had expected another locked door.

"Not exactly Fort Knox…" he whispered to himself as he opened the door fully. It revealed a staircase leading down to the basement. He paused for a moment as he smiled to himself. Obviously the police had not discovered this as there appeared to be no obvious connection to the main part of the house. Maybe there was one, but it was not from the main hallway. Sherlock dismissed those thoughts and returned to the matter at hand. He slowly descended the stairs towards another door at the bottom.

On the other side of that door Sherlock was met with a sight that actually managed to shock him. It wasn't a basement at all… it was a dungeon! A very well-decorated and furnished dungeon! There were instruments of torture hanging from the walls and ceiling, chairs with restraints, shelves housing an assortment of whips and flogging devices. Sherlock stood in the centre of the room, wide-eyed as his brain took in the visual information. That is what was happening here, the cries and the screams. They were _clients_ of Mr Derrian. There was no murder, but the sounds that Peter had heard were real, at least he could tell him he was right.

Whilst Sherlock was processing all the data from his surroundings, he was unaware of someone entering the back door and quietly descending the stairs. He did not see a dark clothed figure enter behind him. Not until the stranger spoke did he spin around to face them.

"Well Sherlock Holmes. I didn't expect to see you here!" the person spoke in the voice of… THE WOMAN!

xxx

_DUM DUM DUUUUM! LOL. Did you see that coming? And did you get the clue? Let me know!_

_The next chapter should follow quite soon as I'm going to keep writing today as I can't leave it like this! That should keep you all happy! LOL_


	7. Chapter 7

OK, so I kept you waiting again. But you cannot rush my creative brain! It has to be ready to write! Thank you as always to my wonderful supporters who have reviewed/favourited – Nocturnias, wholockedfan13, PurpleYin and akunohana especially! xxx

Please read, enjoy and review! :)

xxxxx

**Chapter 7**

**_THE_ WOMAN WOMAN!**

As Sherlock turned he shone his torch into the face of Irene. But it did not _look_ like Irene at all.

"Want a better look?" she said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and flicked on the main light. The room was illuminated by a single bulb encased in a decorative glass lampshade hanging from the ceiling and enabled Sherlock to make a closer inspection.

The person standing before him certainly did not look like Irene Adler upon the first glance. What Sherlock observed was a short man, early 30's, dressed in a suit, large overcoat, with thick, dark hair that framed his face. Accompanying the shaggy hairstyle was a moustache of the same colour. As he looked closer he could tell that both the hair and moustache were false and that it was no man that stood before him.

"Ah…" Sherlock said as he deduced the truth. "Mr Derrian I presume?"

"You deduce correctly Mr Holmes," Irene replied before pulling off the wig and the fake moustache.

"You didn't want certain people to know you were back in London, so you created an alter ego to enable you to go out and about unobserved. I should have realised sooner damn it! Lee Derrian is an anagram of Irene Adler. Stupid, _stupid_!"

"Well I wanted to leave you some clue, just in case our paths crossed again."

"Why are you back?"

"Well seeing as Jim Moriarty and his network are no more, thanks to you. London is a lot safer for me than it used to be. But there are still some individuals that I would like to avoid, so the disguise was needed. Of course only my most loyal clients know where I reside. We're all _very_ discreet."

She moved towards Sherlock and touched his cheek with a gloved hand. He flinched and stepped back away from the contact.

"Oh I forgot," she said, almost blushing. "You still think that love is a disadvantage. I thought you might have reconsidered since we last saw each other. After all you did save my life."

"Yes, and then you immediately disappeared. I didn't even get a thank you."

"I didn't think you would have appreciated the… sentiment…"

"Quite right… back then I wouldn't have…"

Irene shed her overcoat, gloves and suit jacket, casting them onto a nearby armchair. She stood facing Sherlock in a simple white shirt and trousers.

"What do you mean by 'back then'?" she enquired with a frown.

"Um… I meant nothing by it, nothing at all," Sherlock replied, almost a little too quickly, sounding a little too nervous.

"Something has changed! I can see it in your eyes!" Irene exclaimed with a look of triumph and amazement.

"Nothing has changed; nothing at all!" Sherlock protested, repeating himself somewhat. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet awkwardly in an attempt to avoid eye contact. How did she know? How could she see through him so easily? She could read him like an open book. What made her so different to anybody else he had ever met?

"Alright, I confess, I did not see it in your eyes, I made other observations. As soon as I pounced upon your 'back then' comment you became a little too defensive, doing that thing you do when you talk too fast, almost stumbling over your words. And your body language changed, your eyes went straight to your feet and you shuffled uncomfortably."

As Irene spoke she slowly advanced upon Sherlock, and he gradually backed away until the backs of his legs came into contact with a chair.

"That could simply mean that I am uncomfortable being around you…"

"I think it's so much more than that Sherlock," she replied and then quickly put a palm to his chest and pushed him back into the chair. Before Sherlock had a chance to react, she had restrained his wrists with the leather cuffs that were attached to the arms of the chair.

"What are you doing?" he spat, as he tried half-heartedly to free himself. He accepted the fact that he could not escape his bonds, but he had to look as though he was making some sort of effort to resist.

"This has turned into an interrogation Mr Holmes."

"An interrogation? What do you want?"

"I want the _truth_. You're holding something back and I want to know what it is!"

"That's not… I… I have n-nothing to tell you…"

"And now you're stuttering. I seem to have hit a nerve…"

She leaned in close so that their faces were only inches apart. He could feel her breath on his lips.

"What. Has. Changed?" he articulated slowly and breathily into his face.

"N-n-nothing!"

"Hmmm… stuttering again, that's a promising result. Would you like me to get the riding crop? I could always beat the truth out of you…" she suggested with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

"I'm not going to tell you anything because there is nothing to tell!" Sherlock barked at her, his face contorted into a snarling expression. He had regained his composure and command over his speech and once again tried to resist the restraints that held him in place. But his arms were helf firmly in place and there was no chance of loosening them without help.

Irene did not verbally reply, she simply gave him a look of contempt and went to one of the shelves. Taking a black, leather riding crop in one hand and running the other along its length, she returned to her captive. Sherlock's eyes grew wide as he realised she was actually going to carry out her threat.

"Are you sure there is nothing you want to reveal?" she said with a wicked smile.

"NOTHING! Now release me!" he retorted, through gritted teeth.

"Why would I do that when I have you right where I want you?" she whispered softly, as she dragged the end of the crop from his neck to his cheek.

"Stop that! Stop that NOW!" he commanded.

"Um… nooo," she replied, and without warning, brought the crop down hard across his thighs. Although he was partly protected by the material of his trousers, it still hurt and he grimaced.

"There's… nothing!" he gasped.

Irene replied with another strike with the crop, this time Sherlock reacted with a small whimper.

"There IS something Sherlock Holmes, and you will tell me! I can keep you here for days if needed!"

"W-why are you so eager to know?" he said, panting.

"Because I want to know what makes you so… special…"

"Special? How?" Sherlock was puzzled and the expression on his face conveyed that.

"Because you're the only man that I have ever had… feelings for," she stated, looking away from him.

"Ah, the sentiment!" he exclaimed as the old Sherlock returned. "That's what this is all about! I made you slip up once and you want to know why as it has never happened to you before and now you're worried, concerned that it might not be a one-off. You thought you'd beaten me, but then I turned the tables and triumphed over you and now you're…"

"It's not THAT Sherlock!" she snapped, interrupting his speech. "You do realise that I have never been… attracted to a man before."

"Ah yes… because you're gay…" he said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock. I always have been and always will be. But then there is you, the fly in the ointment. At first it was a game, that I enjoyed, playing the part of the bisexual dominatrix, out to capture the heart of the cold, unfeeling detective. I thought you had played right into my hands, that I had awakened something inside of you. Then you trounced me and I realised then that you had been playing your own game with me… that you never had felt anything for me, you were just acting how I wanted you to. But then you saved me from being executed, and I didn't know what to think."

"Why did you leave right after I… rescued you?"

"Because I was afraid, Sherlock. Afraid of the possibility that I might have feelings for you. Afraid that you'd reject me."

"You were right to flee, as I would have rejected you then, as I would now."

"But you said…"

"Yes, I did _imply_ that didn't I?"

"Something _has_ changed! But it's nothing to _do_ with _me_!" she exclaimed.

Sherlock did not reply verbally, he merely gave her a look that indicated she was correct…


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**THE WOMAN doesn't give up easily…**

"So I'm RIGHT! There IS somebody!" Irene declared, her eyes positively twinkling with delight. "Who is it? Oh you HAVE to tell me who has managed to break through the virgin's armour!"

Sherlock remained tight-lipped and merely shook his head.

"Maybe I will have to try something a little more persuasive," she said with a devilish smirk as she moved to the shelf and replaced the riding crop with a wooden cane. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked away, feigning disinterest, although really he was worried. He had already made a slip of the tongue with his 'back then' comment, then compounded the mistake by stuttering several times. And on top of all of that she had then managed to coax a reaction from him and it was only a visual indication, not even a verbal response. His body had betrayed him again by giving her a look that qualified as an answer, and it had not just been a reaction to the pain. He was impressed at her deductions; that she had managed to wrangle out of him a hint of what was going on.

"I'm not going to tell you any more than I already have," he stated, giving her a steely glare.

"Oh but I think you WILL!" she sang gleefully as she brought the cane down hard on his legs. This time he was unable to restrain himself and he cried out in reaction to the burning pain. He knew he would have marks all over his legs once she was done with him. It was fortunate that his upper legs were always covered as he would have some explaining to do if anybody were to see.

"NO!" Sherlock shouted, his face contorted with anger. Irene's response was another swift strike with the cane, the other leg this time.

"You know I won't give up. I never give up. You will tell me what I want to know Sherlock. Don't make me resort to bloodying that gorgeous face…"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, deciding to delay further assault by engaging in conversation.

"Because I do…"

"Now YOU are holding something back… Are you jealous?" he said, laughing jokily.

"Of course I am. Who wouldn't be jealous of a woman that has managed to capture the interest of the Great Sherlock Holmes?"

"You captured my interest when we first met."

"Yes, because I was something different to any woman you'd ever met before. But there was never anything more than mere curiosity on your part. I suspect that this mystery lady of yours has had a far greater effect on you than I ever had. I'd like to meet her."

Sherlock stared into Irene's eyes for a moment and yet again looked away.

"I am right in assuming that it is a female? You haven't corrected me…"

Sherlock ignored her question and did not turn back to face her.

"I'll take that as a yes. I did wonder about you and John at first… such good, close friends… But no, there was never anything like that was there. He likes women and you'd never give into emotions, feelings and of course sentiment – making you weak… until now of course… I'm intrigued to know what changed. What made you give in?"

"I died Irene…" he simply replied, breaking his silence.

"Oh… and that caused you to reassess things?"

Sherlock let out a long sigh. He knew now that it was hopeless to resist if he was ever going to be released from Irene's lair. He thought long and hard about what to say, how much should he reveal to her? He didn't have to tell her who was involved. She didn't know Molly, therefore she couldn't suspect her identity.

"Yes… I have recently developed _feelings_ for someone, since I came back."

"Well that's a step in the right direction. It's not enough information though, do continue."

"WHAT do you WANT me to TELL you?" he snapped at her, growing more irritated at having to divulge his innermost thoughts to a woman he could not entirely trust.

"I want to know what changed, how and more importantly why?"

"She was there for me when I could trust no other. Her loyalty to me is unwavering, she never for one second believed I was a fake. And although I have treated her badly in the past, she still… _cares_ for me. She has finally come to accept me for who I am, but she doesn't know…"

"You haven't told her how you feel?"

"How can I tell her? 'Oh I know you've been in love for me for years but I wasn't interested. Then you helped me fake my own death, I came back and now I've decided that have… _feelings_ for you?' She wouldn't believe me anyhow, she'd think that I was trying to get something from her."

"Well you would be wouldn't you?"

"Not like that."

"But what do you want from her?"

"I don't know."

"Who is she? You said she _helped_ you fake your death?"

"I'm not telling you."

"You know I will find out. I know people Sherlock."

"Please don't."

"Oh are you begging Sherlock Holmes?" she said with a wry smile, running the cane through her hand.

"NO!"

"It sounded like it to me."

"Well I was NOT. I was merely asking for you to leave it alone. I haven't yet decided whether I am going to _**do**_ anything about it yet."

Irene looked confused. "What do you mean you haven't decided what to do?"

"As you know I believe feelings are a weakness, if I give into my emotions then who knows what will happen. I could lose all that I have worked so hard to develop."

"You think that allowing yourself to have a close romantic relationship with another human being will make you more like a _normal man_ and that, for you, would be a tragedy."

"You deduce correctly. I haven't divorced myself from feelings all these years for nothing. It was always about the work and nothing could get in the way of it. I know what happens to people _in love._" He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he said the last two words, as if they had the most abhorrent meaning.

"You think that you'll lose the ability to think?" Irene questioned, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, that's what happens when one becomes romantically attached isn't it? They can't think straight, all they think about is the next phone call, the next _date. _I saw it happen to John. When he met Mary, he couldn't function normally, his mind was often elsewhere, thinking about _her._"

"You actually believe that you'll lose your mind!" Irene stated before she expelled an amused laugh.

"DON'T LAUGH AT ME!" Sherlock snarled, his face like thunder.

"Why not? It's funny! I'm rather enjoying this!"

Sherlock grimaced as he realised that she had uttered the same words he had used years ago in Buckingham Palace; when he first heard about her. He remained quiet, avoiding her eyes again.

"So," she continued, "she helped you fake your death. So you must have already known her to entrust her with such responsibility. You couldn't just ask anyone for help, and it couldn't be the three targets of Moriarty, they were already in too much danger and could have easily given the game away. Am I right?"

Sherlock answered with a stony glare.

"So, she must be someone that you would come across on a regular basis, perhaps through work? She's not that awful policewoman is she?"

"No she is NOT!" Sherlock spat, his face contorted into an expression of revulsion at the mere thought of Donovan.

"Well that rules her out then. How about somebody at Bart's? You're always there. Mycroft himself once said it was your second home…"

Sherlock did not know how she knew what his brother had once said to him, but at that moment he didn't really care. Irene was getting far too close to solving the mystery and he had to admit he was feeling rather anxious. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his thighs still smarting from the lashes she had given him. How long was she going to persist with this interrogation? How far was she prepared to go to extract the truth out of him?

"I guess I'll have to go there and do some investigating of my own," she said sneering at him, knowing all too well how uneasy he felt and she was relishing every single minute of it. "Maybe I'll don a convincing disguise and infiltrate the lab, who knows what I could learn there?"

"Don't you DARE!"

"Oh I'm getting rather too closer aren't I?" she said in a sing-song voice that made Sherlock shudder as it reminded him of Moriarty. She took the cane and teased his face with the tip of it.

"Stop it!"

"Why would I stop now? I love watching you squirm!"

She moved the tip of the cane down his slender neck, teased the buttons of his shirt and was about to move to a lower part of his anatomy when suddenly Sherlock gripped the end of the cane with one hand. As they had been talking he had been slowly stretching the leather of one of the cuffs with his wrist. He worked it just enough to free his right hand and that hand clutched the end of the cane tightly. Irene looked shocked, astonished that he had managed to free himself without her noticing, but she had been distracted.

"You no longer have me at a disadvantage," Sherlock said coldly. Irene merely stared at him open-mouthed, silenced by the shock of his sudden free movement.

He pulled the cane towards him and with it Irene who still grasped the handle. He pulled her forward just enough so that he could look her straight in the face.

"You will leave this alone," he stated with a look of contempt. "You forget that I know people too, people that you don't want to know that you're alive and back in London."

"Sherlock… you wouldn't!" Irene gasped.

"Wouldn't I?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He then released his hold on the cane and proceeded to release himself from his bonds. Irene merely stood back and allowed him to get up from the chair.

"I'll let myself out," he said with a fake smile before disappearing up the stairs and out of the house.

Irene stood in the middle of the room contemplating what had just happened. Of course there was the threat that Sherlock would reveal her location to her enemies, but the curiosity of his mystery woman was too great. She would have to discover her identity, but at the same time exercise caution so as not to alert Sherlock. A disguise was indeed called for and it had to be a _good _one…


	9. Chapter 9

Faithful Readers!

I have decided to move my story to another site as I've been informed that certain M rated fics are being removed for being too M rated! Sorry for the move, but I wanted to be free to write what I want to and things are obviously going to get a bit hot in later chapters! Too hot for FF!

The new link should appear on my profile now.

Thank you all for your lovely reviews, and hope you'll continue to read!

I'll see you on the OTHER SITE! ;)


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